[Julian's POV]
With a gaze that bled cold, crimson hostility, Julian set his teacup down onto the saucer, the sound echoing harshly in the silent, carrying a simmering menace.
His fingers stayed there for a brief moment, then pulled away as he pushed his reading eyeglasses up.
Then, insouciantly, he leaned his back into the sofa, crossing his legs in total control and dominance, like a man to whom the seat was a throne.
His crimson eyes were steeped in a depth that felt… misplaced, oppressively heavy, while his white hair, still damp from his bath, fell in disordered strands over his brows.
The man was dressed in robes of pristine white and sitting across from him on another sofa was his servant, Alfred.
The butler seemed a man long accustomed to service, shaped by time but never diminished, his posture firm and fastidious.
His hair was neatly combed, touched with gray, and his face showed age in the lines around his eyes and mouth, but there was no weakness in it.
